154 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
deeply was he absorbed in the contents of the open 
book, which he held in his hand. Nor was it until 
the slight rustling made by her heavy silk dress 
arrested his attention, as she arose from her seat, 
that he seemed aware of the beautiful vision which 
thus hurst so suddenly upon him. He became mute 
and motionless in a moment, as the lady in the 
enchanted chair he was then reading about in the 
“ Mask of Comus,” which he had only that very 
day received, by a special messenger, from the 
hand of Milton himself; nor was his embarrass¬ 
ment a jot removed when she apologised, in tones 
sweet as those of an angel, for having thus un¬ 
consciously intruded upon his retirement. In the 
very pains he took to assure her that her presence 
was a pleasure, and would he so at all times and 
all seasons, whenever she chose to wander over the 
ancient plantations, the beauty of which he only 
regretted were so seldom visited by any saving him¬ 
self; there was such a tone of sweet persuasion 
about his voice, such a kindness in the manner in 
which he invited her to consider the garden as her 
own, while ever she was in it, and, above all, such 
an admiration of herself lighted up his looks as he 
spoke, that no marvel a young lady like herself, 
who for more than twelve months had scarcely seen 
any one, saving the rustic inhabitants of the farm¬ 
house, should listen with pleasure to the conver- 
